“I love you more,” Annabelle said, and brought her mouth to his. She felt a surge of exquisite pleasure, accompanied by the elusive sense of completeness, of perfect fulfillment, that they had never quite reached before. She was floating in warmth, as if her soul was bathed in light. Drawing back, she saw from the stunned brilliance in Simon’s gaze

“I realized something,” she said huskily, “when I was standing outside the foundry, watching it burn and knowing you were inside.” She swallowed hard against the thickness in her throat. “I would rather have died in your arms, Simon, than face a lifetime without you. All those endless years . . . all those winters, summers . . . a hundred seasons

“I mean that I will afflict the most acute kind of pain, mental, physical, and financial, on the first man who dares to trespass on my territory. And the next person who repeats any unsubstantiated rumors about Miss Peyton in my hearing will find it shoved right back in his throat—along with my fist.” Simon’s smile contained a tigerish menace as he

“You couldn’t be safer. I’m hardly going to seduce you while you’re obviously too weak to defend yourself.” “That’s very gentlemanly of you.” “I’ll seduce you when you’re feeling better.”

She smiled at Annabelle apologetically. “Sorry, dear. But you must admit that the English are willing to eat things that make Americans flee the table with screams of horror.”

Lillian smiled at her, seeming to identify with the note of grim determination in Annabelle’s voice. “I like you,” she announced, and leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs with a negligence that was rather inappropriate for a girl in her first season.

“Let me come with you,” he said softly. “You can lecture me some more. I’ll even listen.”

I am coming to believe that there are two kinds of people . . . those who choose to be masters of their own fate and those who wait in chairs while others dance. I would rather be one of the former than the latter. As to how and when Rounders game shall take place, I am satisfied to leave such details to the Bowmans. With all fondness, Evie the

“No, I’ll hurt you. I’m leaning on your leg.” “That’s not my leg,” came his roguish reply, making her laugh.